


Fractured

by dmnutv_archer



Category: The Avengers (2012), Thor (2011)
Genre: Angst, Death Themes, F/M, Injury, M/M, War Aftermath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-04
Updated: 2011-12-04
Packaged: 2017-10-26 21:24:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/288078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dmnutv_archer/pseuds/dmnutv_archer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Third fic in the Ruled series. (Previous fics: <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/279699">Ruled</a>, <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/284695">Owned</a>)</p><p>While fighting against Loki, one of the Avengers goes down. Loki's reaction to what he caused is unexpected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fractured

Fractured

 

She had been fast. An agile, deadly woman who knew no fear. Fearless even as the building’s façade cracked, then exploded outward. Running, tumbling, leaping over debris strewn upon the street, she nearly avoided the sudden avalanche. Nearly.

Now a jagged chunk of concrete lay across her chest. She had often heard that when the body suffered catastrophic injuries, going into shock shut off any ability to feel pain.

Bullshit.

Fire and ice. Searing heat and blinding cold, the two extremes merging into unimaginable agony, consuming her, ripping away her life. Each excruciating breath dragged through lungs rapidly filling with blood drew her closer to the end.

 _I’m dying._

At least she felt nothing below her waist. Pinned to the asphalt, she stared up at the clouds of dust racing overhead, billowing between the buildings still standing. But slipping through here and there between the grey shroud of destruction, she found brilliant blue sky.

 _One breath. Another. Keep breathing. Don’t stop. Don’t shut your eyes._

“Natasha?”

Her name, whispered softly. A sweet, hushed sound that floated through the din raging beyond this tiny space of agonizing peace where she now resided, waiting for her life to bleed away.

She blinked, wishing she could raise her hands to rub the dust from her eyes. A finger traced along her cheek, the touch light, but trembling.

Grinding her teeth against the paralyzing pain, she turned her head into the hand now cupping her face.

Not Clint. Not anyone she thought might be there to see her move from this life to the next.

Wrapped in black, stark against the lingering dust, he knelt in the broken glass and shattered remains of buildings he had destroyed.

Her heart thudded, one erratic, painful beat, then another, stuttering as fear and anger and the need to fight surged within her. But all of that withered, then died, crushed by the fatal injuries now consuming the last of her energies.

She blinked again. The hallucination, for surely this was nothing more than her pain crippled mind toying with her, remained. So too the warmth rested against her face.

“Natasha...” he again whispered, only this time trailing into silence. His hand reached back, shaking, smoothing over the tangles of her hair. Then his eyes met hers.

There she found no trace of the obsession fueled fury that brought them all to this final moment of violent confrontation. Instead, a scattering of tears fell from those captivating eyes, trickling down his face, leaving wet trails through the dust created by his own destructive hand.

Tears? Why? She never imagined him capable of tears. And for her? One quick, but exquisite, fuck against a wall was all they had ever shared. Though she still dreamt of his maddening touch, there could be no mercy for this twisted creature determined to rule earth as some sort of deranged demigod. Ridding the world of his presence had consumed all of the Avengers of weeks.

Now he had rid the world of her.

So why was he crying?

He waved his hand and the chunk of concrete slowly rose and slid away, gradually revealing the crushed remains of her body. Blood glistened dark on the shredded tatters of her black suit. But through her blurring vision it seemed as though this were another body. Not hers. Not the physical weapon she trained and tuned and relied on to keep her alive.

Though quiet, his clear voice pierced the fog settling over her mind. “I won’t let you die.”

“Too. Late.” She coughed, then gasped, choking on the blood slowly suffocating her last breaths.

He slid one arm beneath her shoulders, his hand coming up to cradle her head. Still kneeling in the broken glass and debris, he bent forward, touching his lips to her cheek. From there, warmth flowed outward, like delicate tendrils of comfort muting the worst of her pain. Then he hovered his mouth over hers, while looking into her eyes. “I will make this right.”

Despite her fluctuating consciousness, she understood his promise. Or maybe she simply needed this. To feel some hope as she slipped from life. Even hope offered from the least likely source.

His lips met hers, and he kissed her, softly.

Her vision faded now, but as he lifted his mouth away, she saw the blood, her blood, smeared bright red over his lips.

Unable to speak, she summoned the dregs of her failing strength and mouthed a single word. “Insane.”

He smiled. “Perhaps.” Then he rested his hand on her cheek. “Peace Natasha.”

As she closed her eyes, that gentle smile, so unexpectedly beautiful, and the warmth of his touch followed her into the tranquil darkness.

 

#

 

Numb, he lifted her from the rubble and held her in his arms, tight against his chest. She seemed so small now. Fragile. Mortal. Dead.

He fought off the tremors rippling through his body. For days he had overstretched his abilities, and for that he would suffer. Suffer, but not die. If the fall to Midgard had not killed him, nothing could. Not physically. Not like her.

Something already flawed had fractured in his mind while he watched her crushed beneath the raining debris. Then it splintered completely when she did not throw off the concrete and rise, fighting.

Admiration, hate and desire had all entwined to create an uneasy companion that remained with him since he had taken her that one night. She reminded him of his brother, at least in the twisted reactions she inspired within him. But she was mortal.

One moment shared. It had been about sex and power and wicked indulgence. Nothing more. Ah, but he could deceive even himself.

By placing her trust in him that night, she had reached through to his past self. The man he had been before the deceit and betrayal had upended his life, tearing away from him all that he once believed of himself and his family.

For that tiny, seemingly insignificant gift of trust, he owed her more than this cold, wretched death.

Shutting away his body’s demand for rest, he inhaled, deep, and focused, channeling his waning energy into healing magics. Slowly, with each tortured breath he drew for them both, he methodically knitted together the horrific damage he had caused her. Later he would rest. Maybe.

 

#

 

Amidst the shattered remains of the entire city block, Loki stood, a tall, black draped figure holding Natasha’s limp body in his arms, his eyes closed, head bowed. Blood dripped slowly from somewhere, or everywhere. Thor watched, barely breathing, attempting to reconcile his brother’s abrupt swing from unleashing absolute destruction to this.

Loki’s stability had often been discussed, with Thor’s fellow Avengers constantly searching for motives and weaknesses to develop a psychological profile so they could better anticipate Loki’s every move. This, though? None of them could have imagined. None, except Thor himself. He knew somewhere within that dark shadow of anger and hate lived the brother he knew. But why now? And why Natasha? Even Thor, despite repeated attempts, could not reach through Loki’s wall of bitterness and fury.

From behind, Thor sensed Hawkeye near, steps slow, though the archer’s breaths were rapid, panicked.

He flung out one arm, Mjölnir barring anyone from approaching his brother. “Stop.”

“NO!” Hawkeye shouted, slamming against his arm, pushing, trying in vain to shove him aside. “He fucking KILLED her!”

Thor spun around and closed one hand around his shoulder, holding him still. “Yes, if you disturb him. He’s attempting to heal her.”

Hawkeye stumbled backwards, staring past Thor. He slid an arrow from his back quiver. As he nocked the arrow and raised his bow, he growled, “If he fails, I’ll rip the motherfucker apart.”

Thor exhaled. Hawkeye knew his arrows were nothing more than an annoyance to Loki. But grief and the need for revenge could overpower rational thought. Had that not been so with Loki back in Asgard?

A faint crunch of broken glass jerked his attention around.

Now Loki walked toward them. Each step slow, deliberate, grinding the evidence of the massive destruction beneath his boots.

Pale, his face deathly white, aside from the blood upon his lips. And face wet with tears. Quietly, below the chaos still echoing around them, he spoke. “Allow her to sleep. It will take time for what I’ve given her to fully heal all the damage she suffered.”

The bow slipped from Hawkeye’s hand and fell, clattering on the street. He stepped forward. His harsh glare shifted from Thor to Loki. Then he looked down at Natasha where she lay bloodied and unconscious, but alive, in Loki’s arms. His eyes widened, as if he could not believe.

The moment seemed to hang between them. Tense, quiet, aside from the peal of sirens, near and far.

Loki slid her carefully from his embrace into Hawkeye’s arms.

Thor watched the exchange, then focused solely on his brother. Loki stared at Natasha, his entire body now shaking. He stepped back and closed his eyes.

Thor lifted his hand to steady his brother through what was obviously weakness due to overuse of magics. But Loki shrank away from his touch. He looked at Thor, then over to where Hawkeye now crouched in the street, holding Natasha, whispering to her as if she could hear him while still unconscious.

“Why Loki?” Thor asked, though not expecting an answer.

“Giving her death was not how I should honor her.”

The odd comment, so quietly spoken, made no sense. Why would Loki destroy everything in his way, yet choose to pull one of his sworn enemies back from certain death? A warrior’s code of honor did not include sparing one’s foes during war.

While Thor turned these thoughts over in his mind, Loki continued, barely whispering, as if speaking only to himself. “She trusted me. Just once, and for only a mere moment. No reason to. But she did.”

Then he shifted his eyes back to Thor, blinking, a few tears still trickling down his face.

Just then Thor thought he had never seen his brother so exposed. Vulnerable. Raw. And more. Something that reminded him of that nightmarish exchange in Asgard, when Loki had broken down completely and tried to destroy Jotunheim. Though the anger seemed suppressed, that same disjointed madness was now present.

Here, without them fighting, maybe Thor could find the source of Loki’s pain and offer some comfort. Anything to start mending the heartbreaking rift between them. He closed his hand around his brother’s arm.

But Loki pulled free. “Let me be Thor. Just let me go.”

Then, he turned away. A single, faltering step, then another, as he began to fade. No typical crackle of energy always present when he transferred though. Instead, a faint whisper like a gentle breeze, and he was gone.


End file.
